


drinks and subtle things

by OrangeCruiser



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, M/M, Social Awkwardness, hawke doesnt do well with people, modern day AU, some hipster stuff, tattoo artist hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeCruiser/pseuds/OrangeCruiser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a cat in Garrett’s sink.</p>
<p>Garrett didn’t own a cat. Much less what looked like a miniature tiger with an overly content expression. </p>
<p>He lowered the cricket bat hastily.</p>
<p>“Right. Well one of us has to go.”</p>
<p>The cat yawned. </p>
<p>((Or: Garrett Hawke's life was perfect before that unfairly attractive doctor moved into the house across the road))</p>
            </blockquote>





	drinks and subtle things

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my headspace ever since I finished DA:II last year. I just love putting modern twists on this shit.
> 
> Just a warning that updates will be erratic at best.

The familiar buzz of the tattoo gun was a comforting noise to Garrett’s ears.

There were a few precious seconds where he got lost in the unnatural flow of needle over skin, of dark ink curling into place over a dusky coloured thigh. Though Garrett wasn’t usually hasty to stroke his own ego -this may turn out to be one of his best works yet. Leaning back, he swabbed away excess ink, casting a critical eye over the delicate curves and lines. 

“I mean this guy completely blew me off! And not in the good way either. He resisted the charm Hawke, the charm.” Isabela pouted, but Garrett gained immunity to Bela’s puppy face long ago. 

“The old ‘razzle dazzle’ just not working for you then?” Garrett wiggled his fingers in some kind of ink stained version of jazz hands. 

Bela’s face twisted up, like she was aiming for a scowl but a laugh bubbled up last minute. She settled for swatting lightly at the back of his head, golden bangles clanking and jangling. Any outsider would think it a miracle that she could even lift her arms for the amount of jewelry on them but Garrett’s witnessed Isabela throw a man clean across a bar. 

He gave a small smile before returning his attention to the top of Bela’s thigh. She didn’t flinch at the press of the needle. Garrett wondered idly about the woman’s priorities. Isabela was capable of shrugging off an elbow to the face, but could bemoan the loss of a nail for days. 

“Honey.”

‘Honey’ was usually followed by some sort of request. Garrett’s stomach dropped. 

“A couple of us are going into town tonight, why don’t you tag along? It’ll be fun!” despite her cajoling tone he was already shaking his head. 

“Sorry I’m… I’ve promised a Skype call to Bethany, I can’t.” the hesitation in his voice was minor.

He missed the crestfallen expression on Isabela’s face as he leaned over to touch up the sails of the ship, mind busy ticking over the jobs he still had to do. There was one appointment that Zevran couldn’t take, just a prelim -and the beginnings of a cover up job after that.

The slightly uncomfortable silence lasted barely a minute before Isabela easily filled it once more. It’s something He’d always loved about her.

…

It’s not that Garrett doesn’t like people. 

It’s not that.

He’s just an intensely private person and the outside world is messy.

…

Much later, after _Antivan Inks’_ final customer for the day was long gone, Garrett said his goodbyes to Zevran as his boss slipped through the door, phone supported by one shoulder -hands busy rolling up his sleeves.

“I’ve got a date I cannot miss my friend.” Zev had said earlier, the dark lines of his tattoo stretching over one olive skinned cheek as he grinned. 

Garrett had found that more than odd. Heck, he wasn’t even aware that Zevran even went on dates. Always thought that sex with Zevran just tended to, well, happen. Guy was more of a… ‘pick up people as he went’ type. But the personal affairs of his boss were not for him to poke into anyhow. So Garrett gave Zev a thumbs up as he left, and then returned to unsuccessfully trying to scrub a stain from his shirt pocket.

It proved to be a lost battle.

…

_Friends_ turned out to be on the TV when he got home. Garrett toed his ratty sneakers off at the door, casting a look over his shoulder to the house across the street to see if his worst fear had been confirmed yet. He sighed in relief, it was still blessedly empty.

Black hair mussed every which way by the brisk wind that had built up over the afternoon, Garrett flopped onto the couch and consumed far more energy drinks than was probably healthy. The house was quiet but for the echoing recycled laugh track that filtered through the televisions slightly dodgy speakers. This was how he liked it -this was where he belonged.

Upstairs his laptop sat on his desk -where it stayed even as Garrett collapsed face first onto his bed and was ignored as he woke bleary eyed not even three hours later, alerted by the sound of shifting plates from his kitchen.

…

There was a cat in Garrett’s sink.

Garrett didn’t own a cat. Much less what looked like a miniature tiger with an overly content expression. 

He lowered the cricket bat hastily.

It blinked at him, somehow comfortably squished between a pasta dish and a bowl of half-finished fruit loops. Garrett got the impression that _he’s_ the one intruding. He folded his arms.

“Right. Well _one_ of us has to go.”

The cat yawned. 

…

It was cold out on the front step.

Garrett rubbed pitifully at his bared arms, tatty singlet doing little in the way of generating warmth. He couldn’t help but feel more than slightly ridiculous, fleeing from a cat. But the thing had started licking itself and he really didn’t want to intrude on that. So outside it was, rather than back to the terminal mess that was his study.

Garrett observed his fingers, nestled in thick arm hair. He can’t remember the last time they haven’t been stained with ink. Despite wearing gloves, he had his own unique gravitational pull towards mess. Like a tall gangly planet that bites its nails and can’t handle crying children.

A loud yelp from across the street caused him to look up from caustically examining a suspicious stain on his pants.

The house directly across from Garrett’s was no longer empty. In fact, an ominous looking moving van was parked in its driveway. Like a blue and white herald of the coming apocalypse. 

Garrett hated change.

He also found himself severely doubting the sanity of anyone who moved house at three o’clock in the morning. 

“Pounce? Pounce!”

Sufficiently disturbed, Garrett went to stand up and retreat into the shambles of his living environment. He got about as far as straightening his knees.

“Oh! Hello?”

_Damn._

His fingers frantically scrabbled for the door knob.

“Sorry to disturb you.” The tone of the man’s voice said otherwise. “But you wouldn’t happen to have seen a great big tabby cat running around have you? We’ve literally only just arrived, well, about an hour ago but he’s gone missing-”

Garrett whipped his head around sharply, amber eyes wide. He winced, Isabela always said that habit creeped people out. Said it made him look like a fluffy owl that had been written into the latest Stephen King novel. The stranger had spaced his hands out at the words ‘great big’, as though measuring a prized fish. A ginger one with claws and fur that was currently sniffing at the suspicious gunk in Garrett’s sink. 

The man had a ponytail that looked like it had just flat out given up at the whole ‘tail’ part. Blonde strands falling into his face and half-heartedly tucked behind his ears. Garrett caught the unmistakable shine of a gold earring. His first thought was ‘who wears single earrings these days?’ His second was ‘oh god why?”

_Why did the new guy have to be attractive?_

_Shhh -calm yourself Hawke, just, be suave. What would Isabela do?_

Garrett abruptly paused that thought. No -no, he couldn’t do _that._

The guy is still talking, not even noticing Garrett’s emotional constipation. He was rambling on about parking tickets when Garrett interrupted. 

“I think your cat is in my sink.” he blurted, mouth to brain filter seeming to abandon him. 

The man blinked. Garrett fought the urge to slam his forehead against his own door. Or something more solid, like a brick wall. 

Oh. My. God. No.

“Uh.” The guy’s mouth quirked into something of a smirk and Garrett was almost completely distracted by the stubble along his jawline.

“I’ll just go in and get it.” The words rushed out of his mouth… like a waterfall of stupid. 

Before the ponytail could protest, Garrett wrenched the door open, narrowly missing clocking himself in the face, and skittered inside. If he stopped now there’s no way he’d ever go back outside. Cat. Right, get the cat. Get the cat and get this guy away. Far away… to the house right across the street. Oh god. 

The small tiger was surprisingly malleable and he couldn’t help but think that hefting it’s striped ass out the door when he’d first found it could have prevented this all from happening in the first place. Why did he have to be so polite? And to cats?

“Oh look, he likes you.”

Garrett looked down, the cat was rubbing its face against his grimy singlet. He hoped it didn’t catch some kind of disease. 

“Uh, yes.” With extreme difficulty the cat was extracted from his chest and dropped unceremoniously into its owner’s arms. 

Two pairs of amber eyes watched him now. They blinked in unison. Garrett had never witnessed such a prominent case of ‘pet to owner likeliness’.

A flash of skin distracted Garrett and he noticed that one of the sleeves on the man’s threadbare blue sweater is pushed to his elbow. A great unmarked expanse, and for a second Garrett let himself be caught in a brief fantasy of having this man in the chair before him, asking about prices and ink colours. His fingers tightened on the doorknob.

“Okay I have to ask, how exactly did he get into your sin-”

“Goodbye!” Garrett rushed, cutting the inquiry off, shutting his door in both their faces.

Later, once the full impact sunk in, Garrett looked dourly into the bottom of his favourite mug -the one with the purple crocodile on it- and contemplated if he had enough of the latest guarana soaked energizer left to drown himself in.

…

The opening bars of Rock Lobster jerked Garrett from his pseudo sleep, neck pinched and aching from its weird angle. He pushed his chair out from the table, nearly falling off it in his haste. Moving as quick as his sleep fogged brain would allow he fished around in the pockets of his track pants, bringing the phone to his ear with an intelligent:

“Hwaurgh?”

“Oh?” Is this Garrett Hawke or have I dialled the number of an errant walrus?” Garrett relaxed at the voice, easy smile curling his lips.

He scratched absentmindedly at the liberal scruff around his jaw as he reclined backwards.

“Bethany.”

A small part of him felt guilty. 

“Very good! We have achieved terminal velocity. Now, repeat after me: how -are -you?” Garrett’s smile grew into a full blown grin.

“I take it by both a lack of a glass wall between us and the muffled sound of heavy metal in the distance that you haven’t killed little brother yet?”

Both of them were visiting home for a week, having found time away from their studies. Garrett was meant to drive over on the weekend and spend time with his loved ones. And possibly Carver. 

“Unfortunately.” There was no doubting the affection in her voice. “Anyhow, just calling to check up on big brother dearest. See you Friday!”

And there was something far too sweet about the tone of her voice. It made Garrett wary. Idly, he glanced at the time on his phone. 6:00? Christ on a bicycle Beth. With a groan and a mouth that tasted and felt like carpet, Garrett hauled himself from the chair and started the long hike up the stairs and to the shower.

He got about halfway before he had the misfortune to glance out the window. Knew it -knew it was too bloody good to be true. Glaring at the red roof tiles of the now occupied two-storey across the road Garrett tripped up the last few steps and into the bathroom before memories of his bungling interactions last night could poke their cruel fingers into him.

…

 

“Hawke, did I ever tell you what a friend of mine once told me?”

Garrett could recall plenty of times when Zev had shared some interesting tidbit or another acquired from one of his ‘friends’. He shifted from where he lay sprawled across the plush leather couch Zevran kept in the foyer of the tattoo parlour. Leather seemed to be a recurring theme with Zevran, the interior of his old mustang was easily worth more than Garrett’s entire car -including the ‘Best of’ Queen albums in the glove box. 

“What did they tell you?” He sat up, willing to bite for once.

“Did you know.” The pages of the stores leather bound record book rustled dryly “Did you know, that some cultures believe birthmarks to be the scars of what killed you in another life?”

Zevran had the kind of heavy lidded eyes that left anyone they turned on feeling slightly violated. Garrett fought the urge to squirm in his seat. He rested a hand on his stomach. 

There’s an oddly discoloured patch of skin there, just above the trail of dark hair that ran from under his navel. A younger Carver had been delighted to inform his brother that the mark showed up on his back as well. Garrett had gone through several stressful months thinking he’d had a _condition_. His brows creased.

“Well its something to think about.” Zevran returned to sifting through their appointments.

Garrett lay back again, staring pensively at the ceiling, fingers scratching at his stomach.

“Yeah.”


End file.
